


Possession

by ShadowsofNigthfall



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:38:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6006373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsofNigthfall/pseuds/ShadowsofNigthfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lonely, vulnerable Buffy’s still reeling from her return from the grave. What better time for an old enemy to return to her life with the intention of exploring what makes this beautiful blonde warrior tick beneath the surface?  Season 6 of BTVS. Season Three of Angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Behind the Mask

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: R/NC-17  
> Pairing: Buffy/Darla  
> Disclaimer: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon.  
> Feedback: Gracias.  
> Distribution: Sure. Just tell me where.  
> Spoilers: Season 6 of BTVS. Season Three of Angel.  
> Summary: A lonely, vulnerable Buffy’s still reeling from her return from the grave. What better time for an old enemy to return to her life with the intention of exploring what makes this beautiful blonde warrior tick beneath the surface?

Listen as the wind blows from across the great divide  
Voices trapped in yearning, memories trapped in time  
The night is my companion and solitude my guide  
Would I spend forever here and not be satisfied?  
And I would be the one to hold you down  
Kiss you so hard, I'll take your breath away  
And after I'd wipe away the tears  
Just close your eyes, dear  
\- Possession, Sarah McLachlan

 

\--  
Prologue  
\--

 

A whip-like, icy breeze whipped through the unusually chilly night in Sunnydale on this evening as Darla watched her prey from the shadows. 

Ever the hunter, a craft she had honed and plied through four centuries of bloodshed and carnage, she had blended herself into the inky blackness of the Ingwood Cemetary—one of many such places that this accursed town boasted—and it was hardly any effort at all. She had learned long ago how not only hunt in the night, to use the darkness around her, but to own it, to bend it and twist it to her will until she could slip into and out of it as easily as one would an old coat.  
She wasn’t just a vampire, a mere creature of the night, no; she was the night. And nobody, living nor dead, could lay claim to that over her. 

Not even the formidable, yet beautiful young predator she observed smashing one of her undead brethren into a nearby tombstone head-first. 

The cheap limestone rock crumbled like paper against the full force of the throw as the blonde woman—not a girl, definitely not a girl from the way she carried herself, Darla noted--recovered into a fight stance almost immediately afterwards as the downed vampire drunkenly stumbled and rolled to his knees, trying to make it to his feet. 

His feral growl at his attacker lets on his intentions to maim, to hurt, kill…only she seems to shrug it off casually, a know-it-all, infuriating smile on pretty pink lips forming on the blonde’s pretty face before she dismissively informs him that he sounds like a poodle. Infuriated, and deeply stupid, the demon charges, only for his prey to effortlessly somersault over his head and flatten him with a high roundhouse kick that could crush a block of hardened wood. 

Even Darla had to crack a smile at that one. She a clever little minx, this Buffy Summers. 

Witty, beautiful, strong, smart…and tired. So very ,very tired. 

Oh yes, Darla could see it.

She had been watching this young beauty, this fearsome, yet stunning warrior for some time now. She could see the exhaustion, the weariness beginning to set in. Oh, she did a convincing enough job to keep that part of her from showing, but she could not hide it from Darla. No, the elder woman—the vampire—saw right through it.

The thing Darla had noticed about humans after a good four centuries of hunting and feeding off of them was one key thing: humans seems to love patterns.  
They took comfort in schedules, in the normal, the expected, the daily rhythm of life. She never really understood it, even when she was a human herself, long ago as that was. But people seemed to like a certain predictability to their day. 

The Slayer, Darla had noticed, was no different. 

She seemed to take much solace in what Darla had observed to become a rather routine schedule: wake up early, make breakfast for the unappreciative little brat of a teenage sister of hers, Dawn or something, head to her mundane job flipping burgers at that second-rate fast food restaurant, go to The Magick Shop to meet with those simpleton friends of hers, work out at the training area in the back room, shower upstairs, change clothes, patrol the cemeteries for vampires, stake said vampires, head home, down a fat-free yogurt cup, shower again, change into her sleeping attire, turn out the lights, stare desolately outside through the window at the cruel, harsh night that she knew lay hidden among the false beauty of the California suburbs, occasionally cry a little, and sleep as she awaited the next day to start all over again. 

There was a certain irony to the predictability of Buffy’s routine, Darla saw that in retrospect. After all, the young woman’s life was so filled with the unpredictability and chaos of the underworld that she probably had her fill of excitement, certainly more than most other humans. The same, she thought with distaste, could probably not be said for the hangers-on that this Buffy Summers had surrounded herself with masquerading as her “Friends” and family. They seemed to get their rocks off on the danger, the rush of action, the adrenaline of life-or-death situations. 

The redheaded witch, for example; Darla had been keeping tabs on her, as well, as the most powerful of the Slayer’s little groupies. She liked the magicks a little too much, Darla had started to notice with fascination. She clearly was drawn to the power, the excitement, the thrill of this life that she was not afforded when she was that geeky little schoolgirl that she remembered from years ago when their high school still stood. Same with the boy that still hung around them. He disgusted Darla the most; he puffed up his chest around the group to seem like a big, strong man, yet he cowered behind the Slayer at the first sign of trouble. He was a nuisance, nothing more. The other blondes in the group, the ones called Anya and Tara, were basically in the same ilk. While not nearly as annoying as the boy, they both tended to also run and hide behind their little Chosen protector, all of them expecting her to be their fearless leader, their shield maiden whenever the situation arose, yet oblivious to the obvious change in Buffy’s demeanor. Willing to buy the fake smiles, the practiced assurances, the phony act that the tiny warrior put on day after day to hide the fact that she was slowly dying on the inside, that she had begun to lose hope, had been fighting with more of a death wish than ever before. 

Darla and her former coven, the infamous Whirlwind of Angelus, Spike and Drusilla, had long ago deduced that deep down, while these Slayers were powerful, agile, fast, lethal and rarely ever tired on the battlefield, behind those deadly layers were just…girls. Scared, stressed, and terrified young girls rushed by destiny into a life of horror, bloodshed and death that consumed every step they took. And because of that darkness, they secretly longed to escape it. Longed to be free of the responsibility of their calling -- the crushing weight of their destiny that robbed them of a normal life, of friends, love, family and opportunity -- for good. Deep down, every Slayer, the girl who dealt death for a living, secretly longed for death themselves. A silent desire for final escape. 

Every Slayer had a death wish. 

Yet Darla could tell that this Slayer was different. Summers was an anomaly in the ancient equation of death and re-Calling that ran for millenias unbroken. Buffy chose to have family, chose to have friends, chose to have lovers, and it was those tethers that still bound her to the living world, to the light. That much Darla had deduced years ago when she and this nubile young fighter had first crossed paths. There was a spark, a fire, in those deep sea green eyes of hers, a mischievousness in that ever-confident smile of hers that fascinated Darla, even in the heat of battle. But it was genuine, it came from a place deep within her, and because of that, she glowed, even shined, as a beacon in this world of darkness in which she battled. 

That was no longer there now, Darla could see that. Guess returning from the grave twice will do that do you, Darla mused. Oh, yes, she had heard about that. How brave little Buffy Summers gave her life to save the world from the hell goddess Glory, only to return from the grave a few months later, plucked from the peace and tranquility of heaven by her unsuspecting friends. Getting that information wasn’t easy; it took time, patience and a lot of money to bribe demons with eyes and ears capable of sneaking past the mystical safeguards her friends erected around the Slayer’s normal hangouts. (Darla thanked them properly by slitting their throats later, of course; after all, what good was information if she left the source alive to blab it all over the underworld? Besides, while she was wealthy thanks to the money she looted over the course of her centuries, that certainly didn’t mean she liked spending money if she could get it back later on. She knew the old saying about money and trees.)

But that bit of information did a lot to explain the fake “I’m okay, I’m still Buffy Summers, the All-American Slayer Next Door” act that Buffy was putting on for those around her. That was all it was, an act. It was forced, acted, faked. Slipped on as easily as one would don a mask to a masquerade ball. Hell, Darla could see the tired little blonde practice that plastic smile in the mirror of her room at night, when she thought nobody was looking, while Darla watched cloaked in the inky shadows of the trees across the street, watching as the small, lonely beauty tried to coax a smile upon the tired features of her pretty face. Tried to plaster it on like it was as easy as lipstick. It was sloppy at first, but Darla had watched her get very good at slipping on that protective mask in the daytime. Hiding what she really felt, denying what was really going on, running away from who she really was…hell, the only time Darla ever saw Buffy show anything real, when she wasn’t crying herself to sleep at night, was when she went out slaying. She could see the ancient, lethal power slipping out of her, see the snarl on her pretty little mouth, watch the feral spark in her sea-green eyes as she pounced on demons with the ease of a tigress stalking a stray gazelle. Watched her smile grow as she toyed with her prey before a stake to the heart or the swipe of her sword ended the fight. 

From the shadows in the distance, night after night, Darla watched the Slayer, and in those moments, Darla had never seen another girl…no, woman…look more beautiful. She watched as The Slayer shed that fake Girl Next Door façade and became uncaged, unleashed in her natural state as a warrior, a killer, the Queen of the Night, the huntress, a predator, untamed, unconquered, unrelenting. That gorgeous body, toned to the peak of physical perfection, bending, stretching, twisting with each blow, the curves of her generous chest springing slightly with each punch that could crush a car door like tin, her pert, perfect butt bouncing invitingly through her jeans—or, on nights where Darla was lucky enough, spandex workout pants--with each kick that could with ease shatter a skull as if it was a rotted melon. Her golden hair tied in a bun, sun-kissed skin glistening with sweat as she fought. She was powerful, but beautiful, wild and deadly as a jungle flower. 

But The Slayer was getting sloppier, Darla could see that. Taking more risks. Letting the fights drag out much longer than needed to, when it was obvious to her hidden admirer that she could have ended them long before. It was as if she felt she could stick her head into the lion’s mouth a little deeper each time and still expect to pull out before the jaws clamped down on her pretty little head. But it wasn’t out of arrogance, Darla knew Buffy was too smart, too seasoned a warrior for that. Summers wasn’t testing her limits or overestimating her might the way she had seen other foolish Slayers do in the past. 

No, this was intentional. It was as if she was testing how far she could slip into the darkness before it could swallow her, how deep into Death’s embrace she could slip into before it gave her one last, fatal kiss. 

In short, Buffy Summers was fighting like a woman with a death wish. 

Darla watched while Buffy, growing bored, finally finished off her unworthy undead opponent with a decisive stake through the chest, dust and ashes exploding everywhere as she wafted away the dust. Weary, bored and yet somewhat satisfied, she sat on a nearby tombstone, a gentle breeze of wind blowing through the graveyard brushing back a stray lock of blonde hair from her glistening forehead, the incandescent glow of the moonlight bouncing off her golden skin as she stared innocently up into the night sky, leaving her looking radiant, a rose growing in the darkest of gardens. A light shining in the dark.

As she watched the younger woman, barely 21 years old now, the centuries-old Darla felt something stirring within her. What was it about this little blonde with the sharp wit, pretty green eyes and the nasty high-kick that drew people in? What was it about her that made Angel, her former lover, one of the fiercest creatures to ever walk the earth, so weak-kneed and good around her, made him change for her love? What was it about this one that made Spike, the Slayer of Slayers and a vicious vampire in his own right, act like a simpering puppy just for a scrap of her affection? Darla’s beauty was potent, she had used that as her weapon to lead men into her arms—and her fangs—for decades, and yet this former cheerleader, this petite little thing glowed in a fascinating way that left Darla curious, left her wondering what it would be like to be closer to her than these damned shadows obscuring her from sight would allow. What it would be like to have this deadly beauty in her arms, to inhale her scent even closer, to taste those pretty pink lips, to have her hands exploring, gliding, teasing every plane of that perfect, tanned and toned body of hers. Yet at the rate Buffy Summers was going, she might be back in the grave before Darla got the chance to see.  
And for many reasons, not just business, but personal as well, that was something that Darla could not allow.

It was as if at that moment, Buffy became self-aware, her gaze turning sharply from the stars in the night sky towards Darla’s direction. If Darla’s heart could still beat, it would have certainly skipped. She was strong, the centuries of aged power afforded her that, even after her recent….resurrection…at her GrandChilde Drusilla’s hands months ago. Yet strong as she was, she was not so confident she could beat this Slayer, even if she did fight like a woman with one foot in the grave. As Buffy slowly stood up, stake in hand, wary eyes cautiously eying the giant shrubbery next to the mausoleum where Darla hid, the vampiress instinctively crouched, careful not to make a sound, yet ready to spring into action if a fight — or flight — was needed. The moments seemed to drag on forever as Buffy continued to stare into the darkness shrouding Darla, green eyes scanning for a foe, steady hands ready to receive one…

…until, at last, the Slayer’s shoulders relax, dismissively turning on the heels of her sneakers and walking back up the hill, giving Darla a generous view of that perfect, heart-shaped bottom being hugged by those tight, stretchy black spandex workout pants of hers as she slowly walked away ,the breeze brushing the hood of her simple gray sweater to the side. God, this Slayer was so delectable, Darla thought to herself, lust flickering in her chest like a lamp light. 

It was then that Darla came to a decision: she was done waiting. She had stayed in the shadows for weeks, patiently waiting, quietly observing her sexy little rival, learning everything there was to know about her prey. She had waited long enough. Tonight, she would observe her one last time. Tomorrow, however, Buffy Summers would no longer be so close and yet so far; no, she would be up close and personal with Buffy Summers. It would be a shame to let such beauty, such grace be taken from the world again, as the girl was obviously on a one-way path to the grave again. 

No, it was time to make The Slayer an offer. Oh, Buffy might not see it right away, Darla mused as a wry smile spread across her dark red lips. She would not understand it at first, certainly not due to the means of which Darla had intended for her to listen through. But she would, in time, see that what Darla was offering her was not death, but life. Not damnation, but salvation. Liberty from the bondage that this mundane, smothering life of hers was binding her with, stealing her potential, siphoning off her will to live.

And when she accepted that truth, Darla smiled with anticipation as she watched The Slayer standing atop that hill, unafraid, undaunted, ever the heroine…that was when Buffy Summers, The Vampire Slayer, would belong to her. Body and soul. Heart and mind. Forever. 

They said that Buffy Summers was unconquerable. She had beaten vampires, demons and even a god. That she had no weaknesses. That she could not be beaten. That no demon or vampire was a match for her.

Darla chuckled darkly. Don’t worry, my sweet. And sleep well tonight. For tomorrow night, I’ll put that theory to the test.

\--  
TBC


	2. The Hunt

 

_Through this world I've stumbled_

_so many times betrayed_

_Trying to find an honest word, to find the truth enslaved_

_Oh, you speak to me in riddles and you speak to me in rhymes_

_My body aches to breathe your breath, your words keep me alive_

_And I would be the one to hold you down_

_Kiss you so hard, I'll take your breath away_

_And after I'd wipe away the tears_

_Just close your eyes, dear_

\- Possession, Sarah McLachlan

 

 

Part 1

 

\--

The next nightfall could not come soon enough for Darla.

It had taken her weeks to get everything ready for her next move, her most important one yet: catching Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer, at her weakest point.

It was easier said than done, of course. Darla remembered that the Slayer’s dearly departed mother herself had once given her an invitation into her home, which was the only way a vampire could enter the home of a human. But the problem was that Buffy Summers was a hell of a lot smarter than the average Slayer. Her door was lined with garlic cloves and other mystical barriers since those annoying little witches had moved into the Summers home on Revello Drive. The same went for her windows and the basement, which made entry into the house at night, even under the cover of darkness, all but impossible.

And of course, there wasn’t any way to get to her through her job in the daytime. Manhole covers near the fast food station were too far away to avoid being noticed by other people if she used them, and it was a busy street. This would have been the sort of thing she sired others for – to do her dirty work – but a string of new bodies rising up would have almost certainly gotten the Slayer’s attention, and Darla was not ready for her prey to take notice of her…not yet. And tempting as it was, there was too much risk of engaging The Slayer when she went out alone on night patrol. She would be too revved up, too locked into Kill Mode, to take down head-on. And her instincts were too heightened, making a stealthy attack next to impossible, Darla sure that Summers’s natural vampire radar would detect her presence if she got too close.

There were points where the obstacles in her path were so daunting that Darla just wanted to scream, or to head out after dark and snap some unwitting teen male’s neck out of frustration. Yet she held off. She hadn’t even hunted since arriving in Sunnydale, opting to use her connections to the demon market that she still held there to get blood smuggled to her from the Sunnydale hospitals and blood drives. It wasn’t cheap, that’s for sure, but there was no way she was lowering herself to drinking pig’s blood; the day she drank from the blood of a swine would be the day she’d kiss daylight, that she vowed.

But as much as the thought of getting an audience alone with the Slayer was tempting for…other…reasons, there was a far more practical reason for needing to get to the Slayer: survival.

Darla’s second resurrection, manipulated by the evil law firm Wolfram & Hart, was all a means to use her as a pawn against Angel, a ploy to turn the heroic vampire-with-a-soul to the dark side. The key word here was “use”, however, and Darla loathed being used. She long vowed after she shed her mortal coil to become a creature of the night that she would never again let herself be used as she was when she was a prostitute in her former life. Her message to the law firm was sent loud and clear in the form of a massacre of a dozen top-level lawyers months ago at her hands. The problem was that Wolfram & Hart were not the type of people – if they could be called that – who let such transgressions and intimidations against them go without a response of their own. They had been hunting Darla relentlessly ever since. Agents of the firm were dispatched to every corner of Los Angeles to find and terminate the powerful vampiress once and for all. But Darla was cunning and had centuries worth of experience in hiding her trail, which allowed her to stay one step ahead of them.

Yet she knew that she could not keep running forever. And frankly, it was starting to wear thin on her. Hiding in cheap hotels, wearing disguises obscuring her stunning features, having to carefully time her hunting for humans so as to avoid detection…this life was not for her. She needed a more permanent way to erase her trail, whicn meant she had to disappear completely. And then, while hiding on the outskirts of town, she had heard rumors about several ancient relics, the Runes of Kaiyuptus, that granted their bearers amazing powers. One such relic, the Rune of Shadows, was rumored to hold the power to grant its wielder complete invisibility, to the point where they could even hide from mystical and technological means of surveillance, among other things. She knew that such a relic could hold the key to her freedom from being on the run.  So she began doing the research, reaching out to old connections, and after a lot of digging, she finally found the location of the rune.

The trouble was, however, that the rune was located in Sunnydale, in a fire demon nest by the local beach. There were several problems with that. First, there were multiple fire demons living in the underground cove. One fire demon was bad enough, as their skin was made of hot molten lava and burned to the touch, and fire was one of the few things that proved fatal to vampires. But taking on a pack of fire demons alone was suicide. And so feared were they that Darla could not find any demons willing to raid the cave for her regardless of the handsome price she was willing to pay. Adding to that, she realized, was that demons were not the type to trust with such an endeavor. Once they realized what it was that Darla sought in those caves, they would likely turn on her and keep it for themselves, or sell it on the black market for a hefty price. Yet Darla needed that rune, she had to have it, for without it, it might only be a matter of time before Wolfram & Hart found her. And that was something that would not be pleasant for her.

Which was why she decided to take a gamble and look to the most unlikely of all allies: the Slayer. She was stronger than most demons, faster and resilient to boot. From what Darla remembered of the girl, she had that sickening heroic valor thing going for her, as all heroes did, which meant The Slayer could be trusted to not double-cross her. And besides, after all she had heard about the girl from Angel and the wild legends growing about this…Buffy Summers…through the underworld – how she was so brave, so strong, so beautiful, that she was unbreakable, unbeatable, that she slayed demons and gods, how no creature from the underworld was a match for her speed, power and wits --  hell, Darla had to admit she was…intrigued. It had been a while since she encountered a challenge in another female, and what was the point of living forever without keeping things a little exciting? 

 After weeks of surveillance, the vampiress had narrowed it down to only one possible place: The Magick Box. That itself was akin to raiding Fort Knox, in some ways. The two witches, each one of them powerful though the redheaded one was the real threat, frequented there. Her Watcher, Rupert Giles, a man she recognized from idle gossip among the underworld as having a formidable reputation as a fighter and a mage, had been frequenting there as well to train the Slayer. Her sister and that annoying blonde cashier, Anya or Irma or something, were there often as well, though neither one could constitute a real threat. The boy that the cashier slept with, Xavier something-or-other, was a decent enough fighter, but Darla was more than confident she could snap his neck like a twig in half the time it would take him to reach for a stake.

Spike, however, was the main threat. Always hanging around, popping in and out like an unwanted pest,  desperately hoping to win points in the Slayer’s heart and worm his way into her pants only to get blown off by Buffy as one would shoo away a cockroach. The thought of that pathetic excuse for a vampire Spike made her want to throw up; she may have boiled at the thought of her Childe and former lover Angel getting intimate as he did with Buffy before he left for L.A. to be Detective Save-A-Soul, but soul or not, her dear boy was certainly never one to beg or persist with unwanted advances. He had too much pride for that, a concept that was always foreign to Spike. If only Drusilla could see him now, Darla thought with distaste.

Still, Spike’s strength was nearly a match for her own, and his unpredictable nature in a fight left the balance of power shifting more in the Slayer’s favor, which was too deadly for Darla to risk. She had to figure out a way to get him out of the picture, locate a weak spot in the Magick Box’s defenses and find a way to get to The Slayer – who just happened to be one of the most powerful supernatural warriors on the planet – alone with the rest of her miserable little gang out of the way. Yet Darla was patient. The Master, her Sire, one of the most feared demons to ever walk the earth, taught her the value of knowing her enemy. And if there was one thing she had learned after 400 years in this world, it was knowing when to wait for her moment.

After weeks of watching, waiting, and hiding in a nearby hotel across the street from The Magick Box, her moment had come. She had narrowed down one specific time of the week, around 8 p.m. on Tuesday night, as luck would have it. At that time, the Slayer would work out alone in the training room for about two hours before heading home, the one night off she was affording herself. The shop would be completely empty by then. No Watcher, the shop girl and the boy would go home, the witches would walk her sister home together, and Spike would be out on his weekly night out playing Kitten Poker at Willy’s. That left the Slayer alone. Vulnerable. The area behind the building where she had access to the window of the room was obscured by walls, offering Darla cover from prying eyes. And it took a while, but she had managed to obtain the ingredients necessary to get a counterspell that would lift the safeguard of the top window of the training room, one where she could easily get in a decent view of her target. Things were starting to look like they would come up roses for Darla as she began to finalize her preparations…

…and then it all started to fall apart.

Darla had discovered that the Slayer’s Watcher had suddenly decided to move back to England, something about letting Summers having to grow up and make tough decisions on her own. Darla could only smirk at that; typical male, always leaving when the going got tough instead of sticking it out. That threw The Slayer’s schedule into disarray, the little blonde dejectedly beginning to ignore her training sessions, going right out on patrol each night, pushing ever harder, getting more reckless with each fight. It was as if she was punishing the demon populace for all the problems in her life right now. As she watched those fights from a distance, Darla almost groaned several times at the melodramatics of it all. Hell, she had died and come back a few times herself, but you didn’t see her throwing a fit about it. But there she was, Buffy Summers, Slayer of Vampires and Gods, letting her fists act out her problems like a hoodlum in the street and crying her heart out in private at night like a schoolgirl. Granted, the sight of her crying was strangely…moving, in a way…but Darla was more furious that the girl had simply fallen into this pattern of irrational mood swings. Life was not about smooth sailing, it was a fight to get yours every day. She had hoped that this Slayer had realized that, that Buffy Summers would be a tigress, a spitfire, a challenge for one such as her…not a mere child playing a woman. If that was the case, then perhaps Darla was wasting her time, she realized, as she was about ready to give up and leave town for Plan B.

And then suddenly, as quickly as it ended, it started again. On this morning, she had seen Buffy grab the silver duffel bag, the one which contained her workout attire, with her on the way to the bus stop to catch a ride to work. Once again, Darla felt a spike of exhilaration, and for two reasons. One, her window of opportunity had once again opened, and she intended on acting on it swiftly lest it close again…and two, well, Darla had learned that as thrilling as it was seeing Buffy Summers in action fighting vampires, it was another experience altogether to see Buffy Summers work out.

For weeks, one of the highlights of Darla’s tedious surveillance at night was watching The Slayer exercise in the solace of the Magick Box. Whether it was working on her balance and agility via gymnastics moves using the rings or the pommel horse, knocking a tackling dummy around with powerful punch-kick combinations that blended boxing with Muay Thai, karate, kung fu and jiu jitsu, target practice with stakes, meditation or practicing her fighting forms, this Slayer was a sight to behold. Never had Darla seen any being move with such balance, such precision, such a flawless blend of fluid grace, blinding speed and overwhelming power. The way her body moved, every muscle taught, tight and perfectly-sculpted, every curve stretching and bouncing at just the right time in exactly the right way, the way her sun-kissed skin glowed with almost a natural luminescence, even the way her golden hair was tied into a perfect little ponytail…all of it was perfect. Darla could watch her move for hours, days, for weeks and she’s still be just as entranced, just as mesmerized.

And the outfits…God, how those outfits worked for her. The way she wore lycra and spandex made Darla think that either the stretchy fabrics were a gift from God, or that Buffy Summers was God’s gift to spandex, she couldn’t decide which…

Shaking herself from her distraction, Darla began to finalize the items she needed. The ingredients needed for a mix of de-spelling powder to deactivate the mystical safeguards around the shop’s windows. A getaway car – a black Mercedes Benz, elegant but able to blend into her suburban surroundings. The dark leather jacket with matching pants and shoes and off-grey silk blouse to blend into the dark. A small smoke bomb, in the event she needed to cover her tracks for a quick getaway. A diamond-tipped cutting tool, necessary to cut a hole in a window. And then, there was the most important item of all: five sedative darts coated with Shyloth venom. These were no easy thing to find. Shyloth demons were rare to find and hard to kill, each one rumored to be standing about 8 feet tall and obscenely powerful. Their saliva glands excreted a fast-acting, powerful muscle-relaxing agent that disrupted one’s motor sensory control upon contact, which rendered their victims unable to move for hours. Each dart was also coated with a mix of midazolam, a very powerful sedative used in hospitals – which was also not easy to get.

Combined, these two mixes would likely put a normal human being to sleep for several weeks. It could probably take down a regular-sized elephant for about a day. However, and Darla knew this, this girl was a Slayer, and that changed the rules. While she was largely human, the supernatural power of Buffy’s physiology, particularly her quick healing and heightened metabolism, meant she could recover quickly from the effects of normal drugs, as they burned too rapidly within her system for any lasting effects. Darla could probably put her under with a few pressure points she knew of or a hard blow to the back of the head, but that would require close range, and that was not something Darla was willing to risk against an opponent whose strength matched, and in all likelihood, dwarfed her own. That meant that these darts had to be potent, and she had to increase the doses enough so that they would put The Slayer under without killing her in the process. She wasn’t sure the doses she was given were perfect, though the flunky demon dealer she received them from assured her – under pain of death --  that they were, but time was running short and she had no time for a field test.

Tonight, she would go hunting. And her prey, she smiled to herself, would be a fine trophy indeed.

At last, night came. Watching patiently from across the street, binoculars in hand, she observed the shop. First the  two witches left with the Slayer’s sister in tow. Next, the shop girl closed up shop with the boy, arms linked hand in hand as they got into their car and drove off.

Yet, there was no sign of Spike leaving.

That was most alarming. She had seen the bastard head in through the back during the daytime, covered in several thick blankets to avoid the sun. Hopefully, he wasn’t going to hang around too long. Surely, he was probably trying to sweet talk the Slayer some more, the little worm. Darla’s patience was starting to run thin as she looked at her watch. _8:10 p.m_.   That was 10 minutes behind schedule. She swore that if Spike threw off her plans, she’d drag the miserable lowlife out of his crypt tonight and drive a stake through his chest herself. _Slowly_.

It turned out she didn’t have to.

The very next thing she saw was the sight of Spike’s carcass careening right out the back door, blown back by some powerful force. That force, Darla realized with a pleased smile, was the Slayer’s shapely right leg, extended outwards from the kick she had obviously dealt him. Spike stood and started throwing a stream of curses at the petite beauty, who stood in the doorway scowling at him in distaste, like he was little more than a roach in her eyes. Darla had to swallow a chuckle rising in her throat; whatever sweet talk Spike had planned out must have clearly fallen on deaf ears, and the unamused Slayer was simply not in the mood to deal with his nonsense.

After firing some caustic words of her own, she could see Buffy slam the door disdainfully, leaving a spurned Spike furious and embarrassed. At last, she watched with amusement as he stormed off in the direction of Willy’s Bar, not bothering to look around and snapping at one innocent bystander who happened to come across his path before he rounded the corner and disappeared.

 _Perfect_ , she realized. Now her window of opportunity had arrived. Stuffing the jacket with her darts and powders, she made her descent to the back alley of the hotel before quietly and quickly heading across the street, making sure that nobody was watching her. Fortunately, that was one skill that she had mastered. In the night, Darla long ago learned to move like the shadows, practically invisible when she wanted to be.

She made her way to the alley behind the training room, carefully scanning for anyone coming in or out. Darla knew that The Slayer normally walked out the front door when she left for the night, so she did not anticipate that she would break that routine. Of course, the girl was known not to abide by the normal from time to time, part of why she outlived so many other Slayers. She crouched atop the nearby dumpster that allowed her access to the window of the training room and briefly peeked her head into the window of the training room. No Slayer, no other person in sight. Patiently, she began spreading the powder on the window still, muttering the incantation under her breath:  


_"That which was closed, now is open_

_That which was blocked, now is clear_

_That which was sealed, now is widened_

_As that which was far, now is near"_

 

She watched the magicks begin to glow a greenish hue as a shimmering jade wave began to cascade down the window. That took care of the magick safeguards. Now, for the window. With the cutting tool, she began slowly cutting a circular hole in the window, a small enough one where it would not attract suspicion yet large enough for her use.

Now, all that was left was the waiting. Waiting for the woman of the hour to arrive. Darla had to admit, she was starting to feel some…anticipation. Almost…excitement, if one would. All the weeks of planning had led to this moment, this one instant…

…except that The Slayer had yet to make her appearance.

Five minutes went by, then 10. Then 15. Now, Darla was starting to get worried. If the Slayer had opted to skip that workout tonight, that would set back her plans another week, and that was another week that Wolfram & Hart’s agents had to get closer to finding her.

 _Damn you, Spike,_ she swore inwardly, rage and desperation melding into one frustrating emotion. _I’ll set you on fire in your **sleep** for this if you’ve cost me my –_

And then she walked into the room. The Slayer.

Standing in all her glory, her shimmering blonde hair tied in a becoming, cute little ponytail. And sporting what Darla had concluded to be the most sensual piece of fabric she had ever seen the young woman sport.  Now adorning the Slayer’s perfectly toned physique was a beige-colored leotard resembling a bathing suit, almost the color of flesh, that blended with her golden skin so well that it gave her an almost…nude…appearance. The stretchy fabric hugged every curve, every muscle on her torso, and oh, did she ever have them to spare. The back of it, in fortuitous fashion, was a thong-shaped strap, giving Darla a generous view of the young woman’s toned bottom. Silken tights, a caramel-type color, sheathed her toned legs and backside, while simple black legwarmers wrapped themselves around her sculpted calves, a new pair of workout sneakers adorning her feet. She was toned, that was for sure, but she didn’t overdo it, each muscle sculpted yet slimmed down enough for optimal speed; no use for bulky muscles in the field to slow her down, of course. It was practical for combat, yet also enhanced her beauty to its peak. 

This outfit was racier than any garb that Darla had ever seen her sport, and she had observed her working out on many nights, and the vampiress couldn’t deny the spark of desire beginning to flare in her chest where her un-beating heart lay.

With her natural beauty, Buffy looked just as beautiful in baggy pants and a simple sports top, but when those fabrics got tighter, more revealing despite their functionality, The Slayer looked like she was oozing sensuality. The way her body twisted and arced and bent with each high kick, every split, every roll and cartwheel…it was all Darla could do to keep herself calm at times. Yet she summoned her control, her dignity. After all, base lust was something for a cur like Spike to submit himself to. Darla was above that; she had pride, after all. And after centuries of making those around her lust for her own beauty, she would be damned if she would subject herself to panting like a dog after a mortal, no matter how attractive…how _tantalizing_ …this particular mortal was.

She watched as Buffy started her normal workout routine, the elder woman trying to narrow down the right time to make her move. She watched as Buffy hammered the tackling dummy with punch after punch, high kick after high kick, each extension of her leg showing off the girl’s sculpted thighs to their fullest peak. She watched Buffy’s pretty face contort with concentration as she practiced her gymnastics moves, twisting, arching and bending her body with every backflip, somersault and cartwheel on a balance beam, lifting her torso off the wooden beam for a split that gave Darla a tempting view of the Slayer’s lower half. Darla's mind momentarily drifted, wondering, imagining what it would be like to let her hands, her mouth, her tongue explore those warm, hidden, delicious parts of this nimble beauty.

She observed the Slayer cycle through target practice, hitting every bullseye on the mounted wall targets via her stake with accuracy, first standing, then moving, then adding a little flair with a roll or a cartwheel backwards before hurling the deadly shaft.  And Darla’s eyes followed every movement, drawn to the girl’s every step like a moth would follow a flame.  Yet she didn’t make a move just yet. She figured the Slayer’s instincts would be to heightened during each exercise. She did have a newly sharpened ability to sense attacks coming, something that took years to mold. No, she would have to bide her time, wait for her opening. But she didn’t have much longer, as an hour had already passed and she had wasted enough time watching The Slayer…

Then, the young woman walked over to a nearby block. It appears she’s about to start her round of aerobicizing. Darla watched as Buffy hit ‘Play’ on a nearby stereo. Instantly, the sound of trumpets blare from the speakers.

 For a moment, Darla is impressed. She didn’t figure someone as young as the Slayer, especially in this generation, to have an appreciation for the fine art of brass instruments. Then, the sound gives way to a screeching, beat-heavy hip-hop sound that Buffy starts bobbing her head to as she makes her way back to the wooden block to start aerobicizing. Darla’s face deadpans, her eyes rolling upwards. _Young people and that damned rap music. Figures._

**_Pack it up, pack it in_ **

**_Let me begin_ **

**_I came to win_ **

**_Battle me that's a sin_ **

**_I won't tear the sack up_ **

**_Punk you'd better back up_ **

**_Try and play the role and the whole crew will act up_ **

**_Get up, stand up, come on!_ **

**_Come on, throw your hands up I_ **

**_f you've got the feeling jump across the ceiling_ **

Yet her momentary annoyance yields once the Slayer begins her workout routine. She watches each muscle on her back, from her pretty shoulders down the smooth skin of her back all the way down to that firm, pert little butt of hers, worked in perfect unison, synced with one smooth rhythm, watched the muscles of those delicious thighs of hers stretch and tighten with every step and bounce.

**_I came to get down_ **

**_I came to get down_ **

****_So get out your seats and jump around_  
  


**_Jump around_ **

**_Jump around_ **

**_Jump around_ **

**_Jump up Jump up and get down_ **

**_Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!_ **

**_Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!_ **

****

It was poetry in motion to behold, art made into life watching her move with such precision, such perfection, such grace, and Darla could feel that lust flare in her again. Such a rare creature this Slayer was.

 

**_I'll serve your ass like John MacEnroe_ **

**_If your steps up, I'm smacking the ho_ **

**_Word to your moms I came to drop bombs_ **

**_I got more rhymes than the bible's got psalms_ **

**_And just like the Prodigal Son I've returned_ **

**_Anyone stepping to me you'll get burned_ **

**_Cause I got lyrics and you ain't got none_ **

**_So if you come to battle bring a shotgun_ **

 

Then, just as suddenly as she starts her rigid workout, she cartwheels back from the block. The Slayer lets the rhythm of the music guide her as she suddenly starts to dance. And oh, she is a sight to behold. The way she moves, shimmying, hips gyrating rhythmically, head whipping wildly to the beat as she loses herself to the music, her nimble frame moving so freely, uninhibited, unencumbered in the comfort of her safe surroundings is almost hypnotic as Darla watches her. For once, Buffy drops the façade of forced happiness and fake smiles and for a moment, Darla notes with fascination, she genuinely seems…happy, almost.

 

**_But if you do you're a fool,_ **

**_cause I duel to the death_ **

**_T_ ** **_ry and step to me you'll take your last breath_ **

**_I gots the skill, come get your fill_ **

**_Cause when I shoot ta give, I shoot to kill_ **

****

But now isn’t the time to muse on that, Darla realized. Her guard was down. And now was the time to act.

**_I came to get down_ **

**_I came to get down_ **

**_So get out you seats and jump around_ **

**_Jump around_ **

**_Jump around_ **

**_Jump around_ **

**_Jump up Jump up and get down_ **

**_Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!_ **

**_Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!_ **

 

Reaching into her jacket, she draws out a small short range projector gun specially made for tranq darts. She would have preferred something more quiet, but a blow gun would require breath and, well, vampires don’t breathe. She had only one shot at this, which means she has to be as quiet as possible. That’s why she loaded the gun before heading across the street. It’s live, locked and loaded and the only thing it’s waiting for is a pull of the trigger. Steeling herself, Darla waited patiently for the dancing beauty inside to turn her back, oblivious to the danger that was on the other side of that window. Slowly, she put the gun barrel through the hole in the window, and took aim.

 

**_Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!_ **

**_Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!_ **

****

_Gotcha_ , Darla smirked.

 **POP**!

The barrel’s sound wasn’t that loud, but audible enough for Buffy’s super hearing to pick up. But not before the dart finds its mark, hitting her in the back of her upper right thigh, just an inch under the smooth curve of her bottom. She lets out a moan of pain before she whirls around, eyes darting wildly down to the protruding dart in her thigh, then to the window, where Darla has ducked out of sight, though she manages to peer in ever so slightly. It’s then when the vampiress manages to see Buffy pluck the dart out of her skin, staring at it in bewilderment and shock before she looks at the window.

Damn it all, Darla cursed to herself. If that dart wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, then she had only a few seconds to get to higher ground before an angry, pissed off Slayer starts heading for the outside. There wouldn’t be any time to fire off a second shot, she’d see that coming a mile away.

“Who’s… _whozzere_ …?” the Slayer shouts in demand, but her voice suddenly slurs. Darla catches that, noticing how the little blonde shakes her head, as if trying to shake off cobwebs. Hope leaps up in Darla at that.

Then, the Slayer tries to take a step towards the window, but her normally perfect balance fails her as she nearly trips over her right foot. She tries to catch her balance, arms and hands extending outwards as if to try and steady the spinning world around her. It’s not working out, though, as Darla catches sight of her legs starting to wobble as if comprised of Jello. Buffy starts to stagger more with every step until she stumbles against the wall just underneath the window, letting out a cry of pain as her shoulder hits the bricks of the structure.

"Whu... _whuzzhappenintome_...?" the confused, frightened question tumbles out drunkenly from The Slayer's lips, her voice becoming slower as a glassy, distant look sets into her clouding sea-green orbs, from what Darla can see in the mirror across from her.

Not that Buffy could spot her. Vampires cast no reflection. _Lucky for me_ , Darla smirked. _Not so lucky for you, Slayer_.

 Darla sees how Buffy is struggling, her legs finally giving out as she slumps to her knees. Her breathing is becoming more labored, each breath becoming more strenuous by the moment. Her heart starts to beat more erratically in Darla’s preternatural ears, and she can smell the chemicals of the dart mixing with her perspiration and fear to create a rather delicious smell.

It was the smell of victory in sight.

Desperately, The Slayer tries to crawl on the floor towards the door, gasping for air as she urgently trying to will herself to the safety of the other side, but each movement costs her precious energy as the drug begins to work its will. She gets about halfway across the room, farther than Darla would have thought she would have made it; this Slayer is really something else. For a moment, Darla wonders if she will make it to the door after all. Then, her figure suddenly freezes midway as Buffy extends her arm in vain towards the exit door…and finally collapses face-down on the floor, a final sigh escaping her lovely lips before she goes still, her heartbeat slowing to a crawl.

Victory for Darla. And for the Slayer…defeat.

Impatient and seeking her prize, Darla reaches through the small hole in the window and pops open the latch. The window gives way easily as she drops down into the room, a triumphant smile on her flawless features as she slowly makes her way towards her fallen prey. Her eyes drink in the sight of the sleeping Slayer. She’s absolutely lovely, a vision of nubile perfection, her young flesh still glistening with perspiration of the workout, but in a lovely way, not too overt.

As Darla kneels down, she almost feels a tremble in her hand from excitement. After all the days and weeks of having to watch this lovely flower from afar, here she was, just inches from her. Before she even realized what she was doing, her cold, pale hand was gliding across the young woman’s right thigh, smoothly tracing up her tights, taking pleasure in the way the fabric swished beneath her gentle touch. She traced her way up her hips, across the soft, stretchy material covering her torso, fingers teasing along toned muscles of The Slayer’s stomach, before casually brushing up her chest, the undead demoness taking delight in the feel of Buffy’s warm flesh against her cool touch.

As her fingers slid up The Slayer’s breasts and stopped at the nape of her neck, Darla studied the beauty slumbering helplessly beneath her grasp. So pretty, so peaceful, so completely at the mercy of the vampiress above her.

Darla’s fingers slowly formed a grip around the unconscious young woman’s throat, watching with fascination as the pretty little blonde’s chest slowly heaved up and down with each sleeping breath, and for a moment, part of her briefly considered how easy it would be to end the young heroine right then and there. So many options, too – she could just give The Slayer’s neck a good, effortless twist, she could squeeze that slender, swan-like throat of hers until all life and breath left her, or she could sink her fangs into her jugular and see if Slayer’s blood really was the aphrodisiac that it was rumored to be.

But that would not suit her needs. No, she needed The Slayer alive for what she had to offer. At least, for the moment. And hopefully, for many, many more moments after.

As she brushed a few stray golden locks away from Buffy’s sleeping face, Darla couldn’t help but to marvel at her beauty. So vibrant this Slayer was, so beautiful, so full of potential that she had yet to tap. She looked forward to trying to bring it out of her.

Her hands cupping The Slayer’s pretty face, she leaned in close to the sleeping warrior and let her nostrils take in her full scent – vanilla, perspiration and something ancient and powerful beneath the surface – as she softly pressed her lips against Buffy’s, allowing herself a small taste of what she had been hunting for weeks. The kiss was not a full, probing one, merely one that allowed her to get a taste of what this deadly beauty offered.

As she broke the kiss, Darla’s gaze roamed over her fallen prey, letting her fingers glide about The Slayer’s face.

“So…a Sleeping Beauty without her prince,” Darla mused, chuckling wryly. “Well, princes are overated, anyway. As I’m sure you’ve long figured out, my dear. But it’s clear that you’re in need of rescuing. From this life. This burden. This prison that you can’t even see holding you in shackles. But don’t worry, Slayer…”

At that, she slipped her free hand underneath the young woman’s legs, while letting her other hand wrap around Buffy’s torso as Darla lifted the Slayer up and off the ground and cradled her into the older woman’s arms, Buffy’s head bobbing up and down as her arms hung limply by her sides. A sort of mockery of a princess being whisked to safety by a heroic price. But in Darla’s eyes, that is exactly what it was. Buffy may not realize it yet, but she was indeed being saved from this miserable existence. And Darla was sure the Slayer would thank her…sooner or later.

“…Darla’s here to save the day,” she whispered, a smile a mile wide spreading on her dark ruby lips.

Shaking herself from her musings, Darla moved with swift preternatural speed. She shut off the light in the room with one hand as she moved to the door, unconscious Slayer in arms, and peered her head out the exit. With no sign of anyone after checking a good 10 seconds, she used one astonishing burst of power to leap upwards onto the adjacent roof of the next building.

Taking a quick look to see if her prize was still sleeping – and she was, Buffy’s eyes briefly fluttering before her head lolled to the side as she slumbered, slipping deeper into the drug’s grip – Darla moved quickly across three rooftops before stopping at an empty parking lot where her getaway car stood. Leaping down from the building was easy enough for her strength. Fortunately, the walls obscured much of the view to this place, and the area was dark enough for cover. Having left the doors open for quick access, Darla fumbled with the side door before she popped it open, gently setting Buffy’s sleeping form into the leather seat before she fastened the seat belt across the sleping Slayer's torso. Shutting the door as quietly yet firmly as she could, Darla swiftly made her way to the driver’s side, hopping into the driver’s seat and closing the door.

She cursed for a moment as she fumbled around in her jacket for the keys before she finally found them. As the engine roared to life, Darla felt a triumphant smile on her lips. Once she drove to the hiding spot she had so carefully selected, she’d be home free. And safely out of reach of any meddling friends who might want to search for their dear heroine.

The car started moving and away they rolled, the mighty young heroine in a drug-induced sleep, Darla’s hiding spot in their sights and not a soul in sight to get in the way now.

Turning to the sleeping beauty in the side seat, Darla allowed herself a smile as she gently brushed a stray amber strand back from Buffy’s pretty face, the petite beauty looking somehow innocent and lonely, yet inviting at the same time as her mouth exhaled slow, sleeping breaths. _God_ , Darla realized, _she's so adorable when she sleeps_.

“Trust me, sweetie,” Darla said with a chuckle as she leaned in and left a gentle kiss on an unaware Buffy’s cheek. “You’ll thank me for this later. Besides…you look like you’re about overdue for a vacation. And boy, do I have an itinerary for _you_.”

\--

 

TBC


	3. Somnium Noctem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darla sets her sights on a vulnerable Buffy. Has The Slayer met her match?

 

 

 

* * *

 

Darkness on the edge  
Shadows where I stand _(shadows where I stand)_  
I search for the time  
On a watch with no hands  
  
I want to see you clearly  
Come closer than this _(all I remember)_  
But all I remember  
Are the dreams in the mist  
  
These dreams go on when I close my eyes  
Every second of the night I live another life  
These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside  
Every moment I'm awake the further I'm away _(further I'm away)_

\--Heart, " _These Dreams"_

 

* * *

 

“You’re sure everything is ready in my room?” Darla asked as she held the cellphone to one ear, her other hand on the steering wheel.

“Just like you instructed,” a male voice garbles out on the other end.

“And you realize that if even one thing is missing or one item not finished on that list I gave you that I’ll find you, rip out your larynx and beat your head with it until you explode into a thousand miserable ashes?”

The pause on the other end is quite pregnant. “Of course. It’s all been taken care of.”

Darla allows herself a dry smile as she sneaks a look at her sleeping passenger. “Good. Thank you, Marvin. Lock up after you leave. You’ll find the money in the account I set up for you this morning. Come back tomorrow around 7. There’s a few errands I need to run and I’ll need to keep certain things running in the house while I’m away. Call when you get to the gate.”

She dismissively hits the call end button on the phone as the line goes dead before she puts the phone back in her pocket. Vampires might not be the best house servants, but they would do in a pinch and knew their place, she mused as the car pulled up to their destination, Buffy Summers still sleeping in the side of the car.

It hadn’t been easy to secure a hiding place, led alone one for something that suited Darla’s tastes.

And that taste for sure had not included anymore crappy low-rent motels and holes-in-the-wall like the common vampire rabble. Darla gave that up long ago when she left The Master’s side. That old fossil might have loved living underground like a sewer rat, but Darla had long come to love the finer things in life – particularly large things. With a great view.

Which led her to discovering one lovely little gem on the outskirts of this quaint little town of Sunnydale, only about a mile from the town limits -- The Chateau D’Le Monde, a now-abandoned hotel that once thrived during the town’s early years before it shut down in the 1950s amid a spike of Hellmouth activity that saw its guests fall victim to the town’s nocturnal demon woes. It was once one of the most beautiful places in Sunnydale, but now, it had been condemned for decades, not a single realtor able to sell the property with such a sinister reputation. It was a shame; the hotel was more in the way of a castle, and with the right touches, it could be made into quite the living space.

Fortunately, that worked perfectly for Darla. After learning about the place in the weeks between her arrival to town and tonight, she had quietly began work to secure the property for herself. Paying off a powerful warlock, she had managed to have him cloak the property with several protective spells. One spell hid the building under a cloak of invisibility, while another acted as a ward for uninvited guests, casting a memory loss spell that would direct them away from the property if they got too close to the gates without the password. Next, she paid off a few newbie vampires – eager to make a buck – to clean the place top to bottom; that meant dusting, sweeping, painting, new sheets, new carpets, cleaning the windows and making sure Darla’s favorite areas were spotless. They weren’t perfect, but they got the job done; the place looked magnificent now, resembling more of a well-lit, posh estate rather than a dank, dusty old haunt.

It wasn’t cheap, but again, Darla’s hidden vaults of wealth were able to bankroll the whole thing. After all, she had learned long ago that if one wanted the finer things in life, they didn’t come cheap.

It had been about a half hour since Darla had pulled up into the property, a drugged Buffy still slumbering in the side seat without a care in the world. As she gently cradled the Slayer into her arms, she was still careful about slamming doors as she made her way into the castle-like hotel, candle lights illuminating many of the hallways as they cast a beautiful, almost haunting glow. Darla could barely contain her excitement of having this beautiful warrior swaying bonelessly in her grasp, but she was not going to rush. She wanted to plant the seeds of success first, make it easier to sway this Slayer. Buffy and Darla didn’t exactly have the best history, after all. Darla had tried to kill her several times the last time they had met. She had also targeted the Slayer’s friends, gone after Angel, whom the Slayer had loved for some time, and even had fed from the Slayer’s mother, perhaps her most personal attack. Winning over Buffy Summers would not be easy.

For that reason, Darla concluded that she needed to start tinkering with the Slayer’s mind first before they had their first official talk. Planting a few subliminal seeds that would make it harder for The Slayer to resist what she had to offer. And Darla knew of just the thing for that – Calynthia powder.

It was a bright purple powder that Darla had once used before, to manipulate Angel’s dreams shortly after her first resurrection at the hands of Wolfram & Hart. She knew of its effects well. If ingested via food or liquid, it was able to produce suggestive effects on a user’s mind, especially when sleeping. Their synapses would be augmented, making it easier for semi-hypnotic suggestions to be planted into their mind, making the sleep deeper in the process.

However, when burned as incense and inhaled, the effects would be even more potent, Darla had discovered, allowing her to truly shape and mold what the Slayer was dreaming. For that reason, she had stockpiled a large amount of it in preparation for her…guest. Her Sleeping Beauty was primed, and now, she only needed one last ingredient to start the seduction of the Slayer.

Darla’s room was decorated ornately. Red and blue exotic, crafted patterns adorned the walls. No more dirty places and foul odors for Darla; she would have only the best now. A nearby wooden case for stuffing the throw pillows ley at the foot of the bed, which was an elegantly-carved four-pillar place of rest, each pillar wrapped in red silk, the room smelling of jasmine, lavender and clean linen. Red silk sheets wrapped around the bed, the fabric soft and smooth.

_Hmm. Guess Marvin did a decent job after all,_ she mused as she recalled her conversation with the vampire who was encharged with leaving the room ready and spotless.

Gently, she lay Buffy onto the bed, resting her head comfortably on a soft pillow. The Slayer was a portrait of beauty, her nylon encased legs bent to the left, her right hand left near her face as her other hand lay splayed away from her, her full pink lips parted ever so slightly as her chest gently rose and fell with each slow breath as the California-born blonde drifted further into her slumber. Darla felt her mouth start to water slightly at the beauty beneath her, but willed herself to calm down. There would be plenty of time to explore every inch of this lovely creature soon enough.

Taking a moment, Darla turned away from her slumbering quarry and made her way to the other side of the room, where lay a rather modern-looking stereo system that didn’t quite go with the room but had amazing sound quality. Casually, her fingers glided across the selection of classical music CDs that she had pilfered from Lindsey McDonald’s apartment before she abruptly left his abode months before. (After all, she smiled, why pay for what you can get for free?)

After debating for a moment between Chopin and Brahms, her two favorite composers, she found herself steering more in favor of Chopin. With a smile, she found her fingers inch towards one selection in particular – Chopin’s Nocturno op9, No.2. She had loved the nocturnes and preludes, and while Nocturno nº2 Op.62 had a sweet tone to it, Darla felt this particular track was more appropriate for the occasion: romantic, slow, yet somehow…homely. Inviting. And she did have a guest, after all.

As Darla’s fingers injected the CD into the stereo and hit the “Play” button, the melodious sound of piano keys filled the room. Closing her eyes, Darla allowed herself to relish the aging, yet harmonic sound of the master composer’s handiwork before she slowly glided back across the room to admire her own handiwork. The mood was set perfectly, just the way Darla liked it.

For a moment, Darla found herself once more admiring Buffy’s sleeping form, watching her small yet generous chest rise and fall almost in time with the music. _She really is a true beauty_ , Darla grinned in pleasure. Letting her cool fingers deftly trail up Buffy’s smooth, warm legs, Darla allowed her touch to linger on her prize before she took the small bag of purple powder and began to pour it into a nearby dish with lighter fluid beneath it for warming.

 Slowly, Darla turned the knob beneath the heater, allowing the flames to heat the dish beneath. She waited patiently.

At last, a small trail of smoke began to rise from the plate, the thin ribbon of the sweet, ash-colored air drifting towards Buffy as she slept unaware. Darla smiled as she watched the small beauty take in the fumes with each sleeping breath. Normally, she might be more worried about the effects on her own being, but with Darla not having to breathe thanks to her undead physiology, that didn’t pose a problem for her. She had never experimented with the powder like this, and she was burning with curiosity as to what it could do in this manner.

The candle lights in the otherwise dark room cast an incandescent, almost angelic glow on the unconscious Slayer that Darla hadn’t quite expected, making her sleeping guest look even more radiant as Darla’s eyes drunk in the Slayer’s almost shimmering, perfect form. Her cool hand drifted over the Slayer’s peaceful, resting face. Brushed the locks of flaxen-hued hair from her lovely eyes. Drifted down her delicate cheekbones. Tracing the outline of that cute little nose. Sailed softly across those tender, wispy, fluttering eyelids. Nails gliding slowly across the soft upper lip of her mouth. She looked so angelic like this, so at peace. Looking nothing like the powerful warrior that she had seen crush vampires beneath her iron fists in those graveyards. Here, she was just a lovely, vulnerable young woman. Here, in this moment, there was no mask; this was her. This was Buffy Summers. This was as real as she could possibly be. Darla looked forward to getting to know what was underneath that surface…in more ways than one…

Part of Darla wanted to take Buffy here and now, amidst the nirvana of silk sheets and soft music she created and see just how she tasted, how she would feel, what her scent would be like in the throes of passion. But she held back. Darla was no craven animal that needed to have her way with an unconscious victim. She needed whoever her lover was to be just as engaged, just as enraptured as she was when it came to bedroom.

If the bedroom was the church and the bed the altar, then in Darla's eyes, she was a goddess and would settle for nothing less than to be worshiped as such. And this Slayer would pray before her. There would be time enough for everything soon enough. Darla knew the old adage about good things coming to those who waited.

The older woman leaned into Buffy’s soft, shell-like ear, allowing herself a small whiff of the Slayer’s intoxicating vanilla scent, as she began to breathlessly whisper in her ear.

“Buffy,” her feathery voice rasped out. “Follow the sound of my voice. Let yourself be guided by my voice. Nothing exists but the sound of my voice. Let your mind go, your body go, your heart go, your soul go…you feel safe. You feel relaxed. Nothing can harm you. Nothing can hurt you. Nothing can happen…as long as you follow the sound of my voice.”

A small, quiet moan escaped from the lips of the Slayer, who briefly stirred beneath Darla, and for a moment, the vampiress was worried that she would awaken, but the athletic beauty continued to slumber, her head gently rolling to the side as her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. It seems the powder was working. For a moment, Darla took pity on the girl, who looked so lonely and helpless beneath her. But she shook that off quickly. If anything, Darla considered this a favor; a break in that mundane routine was something that this pretty girl was in dire need of, and the cunning demon was more than willing to give it to her.

Smiling a Cheshire Cat grin, letting her hand trace down the young woman’s lovely throat down to the smooth lines of her collarbone, the vampiress continued with her words. “Follow me down, Buffy…Follow the sound of my voice. Let it guide you to warmth. Let it guide you to safety. Let it guide you to rest. To peace. To happiness. It’s the only way to happiness. The only way to safety. To the light. Buffy…let my voice be your salvation.”

And as she whispered those words, Buffy Summers began to dream…

* * *

 

_In between the blows that she and Spike had traded, Buffy inwardly groaned at how miserable this night was turning out. Organizing Parent-Teacher night at Sunnydale High had been a lot of work, and all she had to do was to keep that bothersome Principal Snyder away from her mother during the whole ordeal, but not only did she fail at that – which would likely result in grounding until she reached her 40s – but Spike, the new vamp in town, and his men had picked that time to storm the school, with bloodshed and the Slayer herself being the top goals._

_And now, she was locked in a deadly battle with Spike himself, who was proving to be a lot tougher than the average vampire that she was used to pounding on. He was quick, hit hard and had a warrior’s cunning, which made Buffy worry for the first time in a while that this would be a fight she might not walk away from. Honestly, this was not the way she had envisioned this Saturday night to go down._

_“Now THAT hurt,” Spike mused aloud, impressed at the force of which Buffy had slammed his head into the plaster of the wall of the high school. Before she even had a chance to fire a quip or set her stance, he suddenly and violently ripped his arm out of the wall, wielding a solid wooden beam he wrenched out of the plaster. In that same motion, he turned around and swung, connecting solidly with Buffy’s head as the blow sent the dazed Buffy sprawling onto the ground._

_Wincing through the pain, Buffy’s blurred vision could make out a leering Spike standing above her with the deadly wooden board in hand. “But not as much as THIS will,” he sneered, delighting in the helpless, dazed look on The Slayer’s face as he raised the board high overhead and prepared to send it right through Buffy’s skull…_

_“Hey!”_

_Dumbly, Spike whirled around, only to get caught with a powerful fist to the face that sent the vampire tumbling across the floor. Buffy looked up through the haze of pain and breathed in a sigh of relief._

_There stood Darla. A cold, hard glower on her delicate features, slowly inching her way in between the still-down Slayer and the vampire she once considered family._

_“Ow…bloody hell, Darla, if you wanted to share, ya could’a just said so, luv,” Spike chuckled, shaking his head as he clutched his bruised cheekbone. “There’s plenty of Slayer to go around.”_

_Unamused, Darla glares at him as she helps Buffy to her feet, the Slayer gratefully accepting her hand. “Spike, I’m only going to say this once. Leave. Now. You get a free pass this time. Because it’s my fault that you and Drusilla became what you are…”_

_“And what’s that, Darla? Hmm?” Spike asked, his taunting smile still plastered on his face. “Immortal? Strong? Not having to take anyone’s crap anymore? Feeling more alive as a dead man than I ever felt when I had a pulse?”_

_“You’re a monster, Spike,” Darla replied, her tone frank, wary eyes never leaving him. “WE…are monsters. We shouldn’t exist. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you hurt The Slayer or anyone else in this town.”_

_Spike lets out a cruel, mocking laugh as he staggers to his feet, seeming to delight as both women take a step back and get into fighting stances. “Well, whaddaya know? Darla the cold, unfeeling bitch finally found something she cares about other than herself. Isn’t that interesting?” His leer at Darla intensifies. “You sleep with the bint yet, luv? _Tasted her? Heard her moan, made her scream? Felt the warmth in between those warm, tight little thighs of hers? Always wondered whether the only thing better than killing a Slayer would be fucking one."__

_Buffy’s cheeks burn a bright pink as she scowls at this repulsive creature, but she said nothing._

_Darla’s tone becomes a feral growl, her patience at an end. “ **Get. Out. Now**. Out of this building, out of this town, **out of our lives**. Take Dru with you. And God have mercy on you if I ever see either of you again, Spike. Because I guarantee you…you won’t find **any** from me.”_

_Spike takes a moment, as if considering her threat and then shakes his head. “Women,” he spits disdainfully, before he turns tail and runs through the shattered glass door just 10 feet from them._

_Panting, Buffy takes a look at Darla, a million questions running through her eyes. Darla had only cryptically warned her about Spike days ago, but as was her habit, she didn’t elaborate much on that before she disappeared. And that bothered Buffy. She had come to know that Darla had been…different…before she came to Sunnydale. There was a past that she did not like to talk about. But given the situation, Buffy was more than annoyed at Darla’s lack of sharing. She was a little…hurt. She had begun to trust this vampire more intimately in the months that they had been fighting together. And she had thought that she had earned her trust. But apparently, she was wrong…though she desperately hoped otherwise._

_At last, Darla looks down, breaking the intense stare between them. “I guess we need to talk.”_

_“Yeah…you got that right,” Buffy muttered, clutching her head momentarily. Damn, that Spike asshole could sure swing the hell out of a piece of wood._

_Darla’s blue eyes fill with concern. “Are you alright?”_

_Managing a small smile, Buffy allows herself a small bit of delight in the way Darla seems worried about her. “Fine. I’ve gotten hit a lot harder than that. Gonna take a bit more than some bleach-headed moron with a Billy Idol complex and a Jose Canseco moment to keep me down.”_

_Chuckling, Darla smiles at that, a sight that makes Buffy smile wider. Darla had smiled before, but she was so collected, so reserved that it was difficult to tell which smile was real and which was merely a show, a mask to hide what she was really feeling. This one, however, was definitely real, and it made Buffy pleased to know she could bring that out of this mysterious vampire that had shown up out of the blue to help her in her battles against the darkness._

_Later, as the paramedics and police start crawling over the school, Buffy and Darla slip out from all the commotion. They walk in silence to a local park just within the range of the high school._

_Darla’s silence normally phase Buffy, but something in the way she stays quiet this time starts to bother her._

_“So…about Spike,” Buffy attempts to break the ice._

_The way that Darla frowns and looks away tells her that she struck a nerve there. But nonetheless, she persists. Darla had promised to talk about it, after all. “You said you were responsible for him and…Darcilla?”_

_“ **Dru** -silla,” Darla corrects softly, a haunted look in her blue eyes that Buffy had seen before taking hold of her irises. “She was, **is** …Spike’s lover. She also was the one who turned him.” _

_Buffy’s golden eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “Then how does that make you responsible for…?”_

_“For Spike?” Off Buffy’s nod, Darla quietly continues. “Because....because **I** was the one who turned Drusilla. Buffy…do you remember when I told you that my past was something I wasn’t proud of?”_

_Buffy says nothing, only nodding again as she hung on every word._

_“Spike and Drusilla were a big part of that,” Darla continued as they found a nearby park bench to sit on. Stopping for a moment, Darla’s eyes look into the distance, as if staring at a past that only she could see, and a moved Buffy wonders what she could be seeing that makes her look so sad. “We traveled together for more than a century. Over every corner of the known world. He was younger, and he was a savage. Wild and unpredictable.”_

_A wry chuckle escapes her lips. “Sadly, he has **not** mellowed with time. Drusilla was a lunatic and could barely take care of herself, so it fell on me to have to teach Spike everything about being a vampire. How to hunt. How to hide. How to pick out a victim. Even…even torture. He was an animal, and I helped make him into a killer. Because in the end, a killer was less maintenance to manage. That’s all. _

_“And for a long time, it worked. We took what we wanted, killed when we wanted, fed on anyone we desired. It was an easy way to live – no rules, no boundaries, no limits or morals. Life was a feast and we intended to lick every plate clean. We didn’t care who we hurt, who we killed, how young or old they were, if they had families that would miss them…The Kill was all that mattered. The Kill was…everything. The **only** thing.”_

_Buffy felt guilty as the story continued, knowing that she was making Darla re-live all of this. Slowly, she took her warm palm and slid it into Darla’s cool one._

_“I know it’s not easy having to dig up all of this,” a sincere Buffy uttered, her mossy green eyes filled with sympathy._

_“No, you don’t understand, Buffy. Those were…” Darla looked away, shamefully. “…those were happy memories.”_

_Surprise fills Buffy’s green eyes as she feels her grip freeze in Darla’s grasp. “H-happy? How?” she asks, confused and a bit frightened._

_“It might not have been the most kosher way to live, but for a while, I had company,” Darla explained, her eyes still looking down. “Forever is a long time, Buffy. And as twisted as it sounds, as much as I hate Spike for what he’s done…he’s family. People grow old. They age. They fade away. But Spike and Drusilla were always there. And as twisted as it sounds…there are times I’d rather have them around than to face the rest of forever alone.”_

_Buffy could feel her heart move at Darla’s confession. As twisted as it sounded, The Slayer could understand. She had felt so very alone in this calling ever since Merrick had found her on those steps of her school two years ago. There were times that she wished she could share that experience with someone who truly did understand. And then along came Darla…_

_Clasping both of Darla’s hands, Buffy let her gaze lock on with Darla’s eyes. “You’re not alone, Darla.”_

_Off Darla’s hesitation, Buffy’s words became firmer, yet her tone lost none of its gentleness. “We’ve all done things that we regret. But it’s not about living in the past. It’s about the future. It’s about your choices. Spike made his choice to continue being a creep. That’s **his** choice. **You** chose different. You chose to be part of the world. To make a difference. _

_Her eyes fill with a poignancy that emits from deep within. A place where she holds out hope that Darla can step out from the walls of loneliness that surround the vampire and step into the light…with her. “And as long as you remember that, I promise you…you’ll never be alone.”_

_Their eyes lock for a long moment…and then, slowly, Buffy leans in first, Darla frozen yet not moving away. Gently, her soft lips glide across Darla’s cool mouth, heat and cold dancing across Buffy’s lips. Slowly, Darla returns the kiss…their first kiss…and before long, her fingers are sliding into the Slayer’s golden mane while Buffy’s hands gently cup the icy cheeks of her face, a spark starting to smolder into a flame that grew with every second._

_Breathlessly, the two break apart, their faces still only a few feet from each other._

_“Wow,” Buffy breathed, fighting to catch her breath. “That was…wow.”_

_“Yeah,” Darla nodded, her lips also trembling. “A lot of wow there.”_

_“So…what do we do now?” Buffy asked nervously, a million questions dancing in those expressive sea-green eyes._

_Taking a moment to consider, Darla’s lips spread into a slow smile. “We’ll figure that out tomorrow. For now…let’s just get you home.”_

_Buffy doesn’t argue that, standing up as the two women walk side-by-side down the empty street, not hiding a smile as Darla’s hand links into hers, the Slayer leaning her head on Darla’s delicate shoulders as she sighs in contentment._

_It might not have been the way she had hoped the night would go, but Buffy certainly would not be complaining about how it had ended. It was almost…perfect, she mused. **This is like a dream…**_

* * *

 

TBC


End file.
